Sheppard of the Wastes
by LastChaos
Summary: Some called him a saint. Others the devil. Every legend has a beginning. Every man has a story. This is the chorinicles of John Sheppard and how he became the man known throughout the Wasteland as the lone wanderer, hero to some, monster to others.
1. Chapter 1

John, John Sheppard. That was his name. He was dreaming, the hazy feel of half formed reality a dead giveaway to his current state. There was a blinding light overhead, and not much could be seen. He raised his hands to block his eyes, but found his arms too weak to be lifted. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and a masked face swam into view. It was obviously a woman, the eyes and facial structure giving away her gender even though half her face was hidden from view. Opening his mouth, John tried to speak, to ask where he was, but only a piercing wail escaped his mouth. The woman moved aside, and a man replaced her, a man John was very familiar with. James Sheppard was easily recognizable through the mask, his eyes as kind and gentle as they always had been though his hair was noticeably darker.

"Hello John. I'm your daddy little guy." For as long as John could remember, James Sheppard had had those kind eyes that stared down at you with a faraway sadness no one could reach. But the father that was before him now was full of life, eyes sparkling happily as only a new father's could.

"Look Catherine, it's our son!" A jolt ran through John's heart. Catherine was his mother, the one who had died giving birth to him, a mother he had only seen in pictures. Straining on the linen surface he was placed on, he tried to turn his head to see his mother, but his newborn neck muscles refused to move.

"Oh James…A son…" The breathless voice of Catherine Sheppard was as beautiful as her framed picture, and John wanted so much to see his mother that it hurt, never mind if this was only a dream.

The steady beep in the background that had been so calm before suddenly became more urgent, sending John's heart plummeting to his stomach.

"James..I..I" The woman's voice sounded faint and weak now, and his father redirected his focus onto his mother.

"Catherine? Catherine!" The man rushed over to his wife, and John could only lay there helplessly as his mother began fading.

"Catherine hang on! Get him out of here! One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Stay with me Catherine!" The world blurred as his cart was frantically moved out of the way, and by chance he rolled onto his side with the momentum of the cart's movement and caught a glimpse of his father performing CPR over the still body of a woman whose face was blocked by his father's back.

"Come on Catherine! You have to get up! Get UP!" His vision blurred and John saw nothing but whiteness.

"John! Wake up John, you have to get up!" Jostled from his dreams, John waved a hand blearily in front of his face, trying to reorient himself.

"John! Now's not the time to be sleeping! You need to get up!" Brain finally kicked out of sleep, John stumbled upright into a standing position.

"Amata? What's going on?" The rather fetching looking young woman before him had been the subject of more than one of his naughty dreams though he would die before telling his best friend that. Her normally serious and concentrated face was wrought with anxiety and worry. Crossing her arms, Amata began pacing before his bed.

"You've got to get out of here John!"

Raising his hands, he grabbed her shoulders to halt her pacing and forced her to look at him. "Whoa whoa, slow down there. Where do I have to go and why?"

The fear in her eyes was genuine, and it was obvious that it was not for her own safety. "It's your dad John. He left the vault!"

Stumbling back in shock, John sat down on his bed as his weakened legs failed to support him. "What? That's impossible, the doors never been opened!"

"I don't know! But my father's furious! The guards have been given orders to bring you in for questioning."

Snapping out of his daze, John stared up into the clear blue eyes of his best friend. "Fine, I'll turn myself in. I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding."

"You don't understand! They've gone insane! They killed Jonas!"

"What?" Jonas had been his father's assistant in the doctor's office and growing up had been the uncle that had come over with the cool toys. He was as good as family to John, and the thought that the man was gone hit him like a fist to the stomach.

"I don't know! Officer Mack just kept beating and beating him, and his head hit the table and blood and and.." Amata's voice had reached hysterical levels and John reached out and grabbed her in a hug instinctively. Her frantic rambling broke down into sobs and he held her tight as her shaking body leaned into his.

".. It's okay Amata, it's ok. None of this is your fault." Shock was slowly being replaced by burning anger, and John's thoughts were already turning towards Officer Mack. The man was the new head of security and was never afraid to abuse the power of his position to make life difficult for others.

Amata pulled back from his grip and wiped her tears away with her jumpsuit sleeve. "You have to get out of here John. They're after you and god knows what they'll do if they catch you. "

"But where can I go?"

"You have to follow your father! He managed to get out; they won't follow you out there!" Even before the words had left her mouth John had already known that was his only solution. The vault had been his home for as long as he could remember and the thought of leaving terrified him. In his daze, John barely noticed Amata fumbling through her pockets and came back to earth when she shoved something cold and hard into his hand.

"Take this. It's my fathers. You're going to need it if you're going to get out of here, but promise me you won't kill anyone!" Her pleading eyes were ridden with guilt, and John knew that every bullet he fired from this gun would take its toll on his oldest friend and silently he vowed not to use it even if his life was on the line. He would find another way.

"I won't use it unless I have to Amata." The cool metal in his hand felt heavy, much heavier than an object of this size should have the right to be. It represented death, a tool created by man with one purpose and one purpose only: to take life. Checking the magazine, John noted the 12 10mm rounds and chambered the first before sticking it into his waist band.

"Here, take these too!" A handful of hairpins and a screwdriver were pushed into his hands, and John fought the urge to laugh. Amata was skilled at breaking into locks with the hairpins and over the years John had picked up a thing or two from her in the art of breaking and entering. Ah the misadventures of youth.

"I'll see if I can throw the guards off then try to meet you at the door. Please be careful!" A quick hug and John stood alone in his room. Now that there was no one there, he could hear the wailing of alarms coming from the outside along with the muted voice of the Overseer speaking out of the com system. Glancing around his room as if seeing it for the first time, John's eyes came to rest on the reflective mirror before his dresser. The pale young man that stared back had a light black dusting of hair over a strong chin. The dark eyes were confused and angry, and it took a moment to register that the dark haired man was him.

Snapping out of his daze, John moved out of the bedroom, not bothering to look back. This would most likely be the last time he would see it, but there was nothing left in this room for him. Cutting though the short corridor, he entered into his father's office and made a beeline for the medical supply locker. He had a feeling he would be needing them. Snatching up bandages, iodine, med X and numerous other medications, he stuffed them into a nearby satchel that his father used when he had to make in home visits before throwing it hastily over his shoulder. Pausing by the stimpack dispenser, John hurriedly emptied the container of the miracle drug that was a fix-all. Anything from torn flesh to broken bones could be alleviated with the miracle drug though certainly it could not save you from death after a certain point. Counting ten, he threw them in with the other supplies before heading out the door. Pausing to check to see that the hallway was empty, he rushed down the steel passage way and nearly ran into a guard who had just rounded the corner.

Officer Parker was fully dressed in his vault armor and head gear, and for a moment the two men struggled to untangle themselves. As they broke free, Parker snatched the neck of John's jumpsuit, holding on with a grip of steel.

"Stop! Turn yourself in John! The Overseer wants a word with you." Jerking free with a sharp tearing noise, John backed away from the vault guard, slightly frightened by the furious look on the man's face. The first baton swing had been so unexpected that John had nearly forgotten to duck. Up until then, the idea of facing hostile vault dwellers he had grown up with had been only a vague thought, but now confronted with the hostility, John barely knew what to do. But years of scuffling with Butch and his Tunnel Snake gang had given him reflexes born of brawling, and the backward evasion was nearly second nature. Capitalizing on the man's over swing, John darted forward and delivered a heavy right hook into the shocked officer's jaw. Seeing the man stagger, he pressed his advantage and unleashed a flurry of blows into the body of the man, sinking his fists into soft textile armor meant to stop bullets and not punches. Parker folded over, and a powerful uppercut underneath the chin sent the man sprawling onto his back where he did not get up. Turning to leave, the jostle of the handgun in his waistband reminded him that they might not all come at him with fists and batons. Returning to the unconscious Parker's groaning body he quickly removed the man's bulletproof vest and strapped it on his own body. After a moment of consideration, John snatched up the helmet and put that on as well before grabbing the baton as well. If he wasn't going to shoot anyone, he was going to need this. Hurrying down the corridor once more, John nearly tripped over a radroach that had dropped from the ceiling. Cursing aloud to himself, he bludgeoned the overlarge cockroach until its guts decorated the floor. Feeling something large and squirming fall onto his back, John let out a yell as he flailed about trying to dislodge his unwanted rider.

"OH Shit!" The unmistakable voice of his arch-nemesis Butch was loud and panicked.

"Fuck Butch, get this damn thing off me!"

Flailing about, John caught glimpse of the bully as he backed away and swore again. There would be no help from his useless rival. Throwing his back against the wall, the vault fugitive heard a skitter and felt hard chitin jab into his back, but the vest held. A leg smacked into his headgear hard enough to jostle his gray matter, and John's cursing increased. Repeatedly throwing his back against the wall until he heard the satisfying crunch of cracked chitin, John reached around and snatched the quivering leg of the insect and hurling it against the opposite wall. Hunching over with his hands on his knees, John breathed heavily, shaking at the thought of what might have happened had he not worn a helmet.

"Hey man, you ok?" The voice of Butch sent a current of anger through his body, and compiled with the amount of adrenaline floating in his system he was hard pressed not to deck the other male.

"No thanks to you!"

"I'm sorry man… I just…" The wide eyed look of terror on Butch's face would have been funny a few hours ago, but now it was just evidence to how screwed things up had become.

"Shit whatever man." Pushing past, John began heading for the stairwell that would lead up a story.

"Wait! John, you gotta help me man! It's my ma! The roaches are in there with her!"

Turning around, the armored youth shot an incredulous look at the self proclaimed leader of the Tunnel Snakes.

"What?"

"The roaches man, they're in there with her. I…I can't do it. I've always been scared of the damn bugs." A shudder gripped the hooligan's body and John fought down a hysterical laugh. Here he was being hunted down by Vault security and his most hated rival was begging him for help. The word irony didn't even begin to describe the ridiculousness of the situation.

"Shit, come on." Turning down a side corridor he headed for Butch's living quarters gripping the baton in his right hand. The leather clad hooligan followed eagerly behind like an overgrown puppy, and John fought down another laugh. The doorway parted as they approached, and the high pitched cries of a woman in distress drifted out.

"Butchy! Where are you Butchy? Help! Help ME!"

"We're coming MA!" As if John's very presence had finally given him courage, Butch snatched up a lamp and tore off into the adjacent room. Dogging his rival's footsteps, John entered the room that had been utterly destroyed. Half a dozen roaches littered the room, 4 gathered around the bed where Butch's mother had taken refuge, a chair with a broken leg the only barrier between her and the scuttling insects.

"OH shit oh shit oh shit!" Butch had smashed the lamp on the first roach by the door and had instead grabbed the broken off wooden leg of the chair his mother was using as a shield. John paused to finish off the twitching insect by the door before rushing past Butch right into the thick of the creatures. Swinging the commandeered baton, he lay into the creatures, scattering them with sweeping blows. The frantic thunking from behind told him Butch was busy beating down the other roach, and John focused on smashing the ones in front of him. The few adrenaline fueled seconds that followed felt like an eternity, and by the time the pounding his ear had slowed down the radroaches were unrecognizable.

"Ma! You all right MA?" The woman had collapsed into sobs on the bed and her son rushed over to check on her.

"Move Butch, let me take a look at her." Gently pushing the worried bully out of the way, John did a quick inspection to make sure the woman wasn't too injured. There were numerous shallow cuts across her legs and some on her arms, but nothing that would warrant any concern. Pulling back, he rifled through his bag and handed over some radaway to Butch. "Give her some of that just in case. Rest of the wounds are simple enough, wash them out and disinfect them before bandaging. I have to go."

The pure relief on the boys face was evident and John raised his opinion on his rival a few notches. Maybe he wasn't a total ass. Course that wasn't saying much seeing as Butch rated slightly abover the radroaches hey had just killed. "Thanks man, I know I been a real asshole to you over the years, but you're good in my books." Grunting, John gave his fellow vault dweller a nod.

"Hey listen man," fumbling, Butch removed his leather jacket and handed it over. "I know it ain't much, but I want you to have this. You might need it." Not seeing any real use for it but knowing that it would most likely be the last time he was ever going to see his rival, John grabbed the leather jacket and hung it over his satchel. Giving one last farewell nod, he backed out into the corridor and took off towards the staircase. Thundering up the metal rungs, he rounded the corner and caught glimpse of Old Lady Sandra laid out on her back in the room where his 11nth birthday party had taken place. The sickly pool of red oozing out from her head was far too large for her to be alive, so John tore right past knowing there was nothing he could do for her.

More yelling was heard from the corridor ahead, followed by the now familiar skitter of the radroaches. A searing hiss filled the corridor similar to the sound of a fire extinguisher being used, but the crackle of flames did the opposite of what those extinguishers were meant to do. The cheerful robotic warcry of the only Mr. Handy in the Vault was unmistakable, and John tensed. If the Overseer had ordered Mr. Handy to detain him at any cost, chances were John wasn't going to survive the next encounter. Steeling himself, John stared down the corridor to where the next stairwell lay, his exit to freedom. Breathing deep, he sprinted forward at full speed, blasting down the blurring metal Hallway. From his peripheral vision he caught glimpse of Officer Gomez helping someone off the ground, but he didn't stay long enough to find out. Pumping his legs like pistons, he took the steps three at a time and didn't slow until he had passed the metal doorway and nearly slammed into the two people standing in the open hallway.

Sarah and George were the living soap opera of Vault 101, the star crossed lovers whose parents did not approve of the other's family. The two had been together since they were 14, but not being 18 yet they could not move out against their family's wishes.

"Come on Sarah, this is our chance! We can get out of here just like the Doc!" Snatching his girlfriend's hand, the young Casanova led them towards the corridor that led to the elevator that would take them towards the vault entrance. The popping noise at first made little sense to John's ears, but hearing the two teenagers cry out and keel over, he ground to a halt. Spurts of red continued spraying into the air as the two dead corpses twitched as the rounds slammed into them. John stared dumbfounded at the moments before breathing couple. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he recalled Amata's warning. 'My god they really have gone insane!'

Whoever had gunned down Sarah and George were obviously guarding the exit points, and most likely it would have been locked as well. He would have to find another path, but the problem was, the only other exit to the hall was next to the corridor that led to the elevator. Tightening his grip on the baton, John sprinted forward once more, dashing towards the only other exit. He caught sight of the two security officers at the end of the corridor and swore to himself as he heard them yell and move towards him, guns raised to shoot. Ducking down next to the mouth of the corridor, John squatted down listening to the sounds of hurried footsteps moving towards him. The first man that rounded the exit received a devastating blow to the kneecap, cartilage smashed beyond recognition. His cry of pain was somewhat muffled by his helmet as he collapsed, and John did not give him any time to do more. Smashing his elbow into the throat of the dark skinned guard, he grabbed the man by the front of his vest and hoisted him up. Shoving the unconscious guard into his partner, he sent them both tumbling backwards. Rushing forward John swung mercilessly into the pile of squirming limbs and did not let up until they both lay unmoving. Breathing heavily, John dropped his baton and threw up onto the ground next to the mangled forms of the two officers. While the helmets had protected the two men's head from the worst of it, the frenzied attack had left their bodies much worst off, limbs bent at strange angles and blue fatigues darkening with bloodstains.

Wiping his mouth, John struggled up from his hunched over position and forced himself to search through his handy work. Liberating the two men of 36 10mm rounds and the two pistols, John moved over to the elevator entrance only to discover that it was locked as he had expected. Stumbling past the two floored and unmoving guards, he rounded the corner and pushed past the dozens of radroaches littering the hallway. Entering the power maintenance room, he grimaced at the body of one of the maintenance workers face down in the corner. The half eaten arm attested to the fact that she wasn't alive. Pushing forward, he was startled by the bang to his right. Staring into the dimmed glass he could make out a male form pounding on the thick shatterproof material.

"This is your fault! You and your stupid father! Why'd he have to go and fuck things up for all of us? Guards! Guards! He's in here!" The muffled cries brought security personnel from the only other exit, the man's baton drawn.

"Stand down John! You got nowhere to run! The Overseer wants a word with you!"

'I'm getting real bloody tired of this.' Grabbing the 10mm pistol from its hidden location John drew it out in one smooth motion, cocking back the safety with an audible click. The metal representation of death stopped the advancing guard's steps stone cold, and the baton wavered uncertainly.

"I'd leave if I were you. I'm getting real sick and tired of dealing with you guards, and at this point I'm not going to shed any tears over one more body" he snarled.

The baton stilled and raised itself again. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me." Twin coals pierced into the guards vibrant emeralds, and something must have been made evident to the man because the next moment he had laid down his baton and raised his hands up.

Keeping the gun trained on the security man, John eased passed into the next hallway. The gun went back into his waistband, and he hurried on, determined to get to the exit. As he pushed on through the corridor, he caught glimpse of the Overseer through a window and stopped cold at the sight of Officer Mack standing menacingly over a chair bound Amata. He could not make out what was being said, but he knew he wasn't going to let that pass. The man had murdered one of his only friends and was now threatening his best friend. The door parted as he entered and for a moment there was confusion as everyone turned to see who had come in.

"Let her go Mack." The steel in his voice was sharper then a blade and cut through the air like arrows.

"You!" shouted the Overseer, the rage evident in his eyes, but John ignored him. The man was no threat. Not yet.

"Mack I swear to god if you lay one hand on Amata I'm gonna tear you apart you son of a bitch!"

Officer Mack sneered and drew his baton. "I never liked your father, and I certainly never liked you boy. Time to learn your place, just like that bumbling idiot Jonas."

The mere mention of his dead friend sent a film of red to blanket his vision and the howl of rage that escaped his throat was inhuman. Fatigue forgotten, John rushed forward and hit the man in the midsection in a powerful tackle that took them both into the wall. A crack indicated that one of Mack's ribs was no longer whole, but the man merely lay in with his baton with labored grunts. Ignoring the jarring blows raining down on his helmeted head and unprotected shoulders John drew back and drove his knee into the midsection of the man's abdomen, winding him. Grabbing the officers' unprotected head, John brought his helmet crashing into the man's face, causing a cascade of crimson to splatter across the visor blinding him. Ignoring his vision impairment, he repeatedly smashed his helmeted head against that of his adversary until even the groaning fell silent. Dropping the unresponsive body onto the floor, John removed the helmet and dropped it next to Mack's still form.

"My god…What have you done?" The Overseer's horrified voice was full of accusation that sent a tidal wave of anger washing through John.

"What have I done? Don't you mean what have you done? None of this would have happened had you not ordered this manhunt for me. Jonas, Old lady Sandra, Elena, Sarah, George… They'd all still be alive if it wasn't for you!"

"I did this to protect the vault!" the man shouted. "You have gone and rampaged through our peaceful hallways, you and that ungrateful father of yours! I knew I should have never let them in! Should have had you both shot at in the entrance when he first came!"

Matching the older man's glare, John took a menacing step forward his face a mask of fury. "You're lucky you mean so much to Amata or I'd kill you too you bastard!"he hissed.

The young vault refugee headed towards the exit, ignoring the Overseers demands to turn himself in. It was time to move on. Rounding another familiar looking corridor, he came face to face with Jonas's body. The man was laying face down on the floor and the trickle of blood from the nasty gash on the back of his head glinted a sickly ruby. Gently turning the man's body over, John fought back the tears as he gazed down into his friend's confused and frightened expression.

"God Jonas. I'm so sorry."

Gently closing his dead friend's open eyes, he noted the small tape in the man's jacket pocket. Hesitantly pulling it out, he noted the date on it. Just yesterday. Popping the mini tape into his pipboy, he hit the play button and listened as his father's somber voice filled the silence.

"My son, it is time you know the truth. We were not born in the vault; we came from the surface to seek refuge in this place. There is some unfinished business I need to attend to on the surface, and you're old enough to take care of yourself now so I felt it was time to keep an old promise to your mother. I love you my son, stay safe."

The recording ended and the brief message brought more confusion than enlightenment. An unfinished promise to his mother? What could it mean? Pocketing the small tape, he moved over to Jonas's desk. He knew the man kept a few stimpaks and rad X's in his desk as a precaution since he worked close to the nuclear reactor that kept the vault powered. Pulling on the drawers he rifled through the paperwork and found nothing of interest. Pulling on a few others, he eventually came to the bottom one which refused to open. Silently thanking Amata for her foresight, he pulled out the screwdriver and a bobypin. Carefully working the pin in so that it adhered to the shape of the mechanism inside the lock, he pushed the screwdriver into the entrance and gave it a gentle twice. A satisfying click told him it had worked, and he was rewarded with three more stimpaks and a handful of rolled bandaged. Pocketing them John paused to swipe the bottles of water from the desk before he headed towards the elevator that would bring him up towards the Vault entrance. It was time to leave this place for good. A minute ride later and he found himself at the entrance to the vault. Amata was already hunched over the controls rapidly working the panel.

She turned as he approached and bound up to give him a hug. "John, thank god! I thought…I thought..."

Returning the strong embrace, he gave his friend a reassuring pat. "I'm ok Amata. Come on let's get this door open."

Working side by side, they bypassed the security relatively quickly and within minutes the panel showed green across the board. The only thing left was to push the button that would open the doorway. Amata hesitated over the red button and looked uncertainly at John. He stared back and reached forward and brushed her hands aside. This was not a burden for his friend to bear. Pressing his palm down on the button caused a wailing alarm to set off, and the robotic arm hanging from the ceiling creaked to life. With much grinding protest, the doors to the entryway groaned open, revealing a strange yellow light in the distance.

"My god! We did it!" The breathless whisper next to John was full of awe, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the natural light being emitted form the end of the tunnel. John turned to look at the young woman standing beside him. If it hadn't been for Amata, most likely he would have been caught napping on his bed and more than likely executed on the spot. Part of him wanted desperately to ask her to come with him, to escape to the surface. The unknown would be so much less scary if he didn't have to deal with it alone, but he wouldn't put her in danger like that. This was his shoulder to burden, and he would do it alone, walk the surface of the world to find his father and ask him for answers.

"Amata…" The young woman in question turned her attention to John, awe replaced by worry.

"If anyone can survive out there it's you John. You're one of the most resourceful and skilled people in this vault."

Nodding he took a hesitant step forward. "You need to close the door once I leave. No point putting everyone else in danger."

Suddenly Amata darted forward and brushed her lips against his. The warm flesh sent a tingling sensation through his mouth and heat shot down his spine. Pulling back Amata stared up into his surprised face. "Good luck and stay safe John. When you're done, you come back to me you hear?" Nodding once, he marched through the gates and turned to look back at his friend.

"We make our own luck." Amata gave a tearful smile and placed her palm over the button that would seal vault 101 once more.

"Goodbye John." The wailing alarm sounded once more, and the hiss of hydraulics filled the air as the 13 ton steel door began to roll back into position. John stood at the mouth, watching his old friend and home disappear behind the steel wall. With a final decisive rumble, the steel wheel fell into place with a thunderous crunch and silence fell once more in the rocky cavern. Gazing up at the massive 101 adornment, John tried to still his beating heart. It was time to move on.

AN: Been awhile since I've written, kinda sloppy tbh, but hopefully that will get better as I warm up a bit and shake off my pen's rust. As you can imagine this story takes place in fallout 3, and will include a few of the add ons as I see fit. John Sheppard is named so because I love that character from Mass Effect, and as you can imagine the Lone wanderer in my story isn't strictly good. He will perform good deeds where he can, but he has no qualms with doing what's necessary and is a strict believer in the theory of revenge being a dish best served on a fist speeding towards your mouth. I'm doing this mostly from memory and I realize I skipped a few scenes from the game, but I felt this was a decent go at what reality in the fallout world will be like. John's not gonna be the terminator nor is he gonna be Neo from the matrix. I'm hoping to give this a more realistic sense, and perhaps have a little fun along the way. Not sure if I'm gonna give him any romantic interests, but certainly women of the waste are going to appreciate a handsome unmutated young man whose body isn't' weather beaten from years of harsh living out in the wasteland *wink*. Give me your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

Agent 94: Hey thanks for being my first reviewer, you are awesome! And I realize and will take your advice to heart, but really I'm just exploring my long lost ability to write lol. I had started an account years ago in high school, but later stopped. When I go to college I decided to take up writing again starting lastchos as my new account, but gave up promptly as work overwhelmed me. Now that I've got a bit more balance in life, I've decided to go back to writing, so hopefully I'll manage to pull a bunny out of my magic hat, and failing that a yao gui ;)

ELMO-fAN cLUB MeMbER: (Hope I got your penname right), hey glad you're enjoying it, stick around maybe you'll find some other stuff you like =)Hopefully I'll be able to get going a bit on the main story itself, but most likely not for the next few chapters. John's gonna be doing some wandering before the story really gets going.

*Italic quotes are thoughts and normal quotes are spoken speech

The dim rocky cavern cast strange shadows on the ground; in between the darkness were the skeletal remains of those who had died in the nuclear holocaust right outside the doors of vault 101. The skeletons lined the area, bones scattered across the floor causing John to stumble whenever his foot caught onto the jagged marrow. Here and there wooden signs lay on the ground or propped against stone, each with a message that would have never been seen by those who had managed to take refuge within the blast proof vault doors. Pausing to examine one of the particularly interesting messages (Fuck the world. This is the end man deserves, the end we created when we figured out how to split the atom. Einstein was the anti-christ, only now has the truth become apparent), John knew that he was simply stalling. The barbed wired door that led to the outside world was within a dozen yards, but here he was dillydallying next to a bunch of age old corpses because he was too scared to confront what lay outside.

When he was younger, he had dreamed and played out make belief fantasies of opening the vault door and exploring the outside world. Hell every kid who grew up in the vault must have at some point, a steel box wasn't the most interesting place to grow up in, even if that steel box was meant to hold hundreds of people for an indefinite amount of time. As a child the outside had always been this mysterious fantastical place that must have been more interesting than the gray interiors of the vault. Growing a little older, schooling taught him about what life had been like before the Great War that ended the majority of human presence on earth. He saw photographs of trees, houses, cars, sidewalks, parks, lakes, rivers, oceans. But knowing what life had been like also gave him the knowledge that that was not what the surface was like anymore, after all the nuclear blasts would have cleansed the surface like a puff of air into a dust filled CPU fan unit. Trees would have been plucked from the ground, houses flattened, roads disintegrated, oceans irradiated. Life would have been virtually impossible, and it was their jobs as the people of the vault to survive preserve and reproduce until such a time the radiation had died down enough for them to start over anew.

Ironically enough, now that he was on his way to the surface, John no longer felt the same exhilaration and excitement he had imagined as a child while playing with Amata. No, he only felt the lead in his stomach and the harsh dryness of his own mouth next to the rapid fire pulse of his heart. While his thoughts had wandered, John's feet had brought him to the entrance that led to the gate of vault 101. His hand as though controlled by another had already found its way onto the handle. Gulping, the vault escapee gritted his teeth and tightened his leg muscles to halt the small quiver in them. His father had said they had come to the vault from the surface, meaning there must have been people that managed to survive on the surface. Perhaps it would not be as good as life in the vault had been, but certainly he would not be alone. Swallowing once, he closed his eyes and turned the handle and pulled back.

Even through his closed lids the sunlight's warm rays seemed extraordinarily bright. Grunting at the searing pain jabbing into his eyeballs, John backed up a few paces back into the darkness where his closed eyes found some relief. He had read the manual that had been created for the people who would one day be the ones to venture onto the surface, and it had warned them that years of living under artificial light would render their eyes much more sensitive to natural sunlight. It would take some time and patience before their eyes would adjust and they would feel comfortable seeing in normal light. Resting his back against the wall, John slid down into a sitting position with his eyelids still closed, waiting for the light burn in them to pass.

He didn't know how long he sat there in the half darkness, but slowly the translucent light began to fade, and for a moment he thought he was adjusting. Feeling safe to open his eyes, he was dismayed to see that the light from the outside had vanished. An inexplicable feeling of panic rose into his chest and he rushed outside into the fading light, ignoring the jabbing pains it brought to his head. Staring out into the fading rays, it took him a moment to realize what was happening. The sun was setting. Inside the vault light was kept on at all times (nuclear power wouldn't run out for centuries) and in class they had learned about sunrise and sunset. It simply had not occurred to John that he would live to see one.

Now in the gloom of night setting in, John was finally able to see properly and the sight took the breath from his lungs. Gray. Gray as far as the eye could see. The Wasteland was unlike anything he had possibly imagined. The rocky land was framed by numerous crumbling buildings, and here and there poked up the remains of dead trees too stubborn to fall over. Metallic structures that stretched into the heavens lined parts of the land, and off in the distance he could make out what appeared to be some sort of bridge if he was recalling his education properly.

Scanning his pipboy, he noted that it was close to 7pm. inside the vault, time had little meaning other than keeping schedule. 7 pm simply meant it was time for dinner followed by brushing of teeth and some light reading before bed. Out here, 7pm meant the light was vanishing and it was time to find shelter. John knew that the temperature dropped at night on the outside (or so he had been taught), and having only a t-shirt and a Kevlar vest wasn't the best protection from the cold. Not that he knew what cold really was, after all the vault never fell below 74 degrees Fahrenheit. Silently thanking Butch, John removed the Kevlar vest and hastily pulled on his rival's favorite leather jacket. Feeling something hard within the pocket, John pulled out the switchblade Butch had loved playing with whenever he was bored. A cutting edge might come in handy. Pocketing the knife, John struggled back into his protective gear and checked to make sure his pistol was properly loaded. Glancing down at the ground, he noticed a set of dusty footprints that lead off into the outside world.

'_Dad, did you stand here in this exact same spot as I did? Did you think about me and what it would mean now that you left?_' Pushing those thoughts out of his head, John inhaled sharply and took his first step into the outside world. Following what he assumed was his father's footprints, he struggled downhill onto what appeared to be the remains of a road, the prints left by his father becoming steadily harder and harder to see as he got lower. By the time he got down to the disfigured road there was no signs left of his father's trail, and certainly no note left behind telling John where the man might have gone.

'_Well first things first, I have to get a lay of the land before I go off in search of Dad, and the best place to go is where people might be._' Recalling seeing what might have been the remains of a town from the vantage point of the vault exit John began heading north, eyes adjusting to the inky blackness. Cursing as he stumbled over yet another obstacle on the ground, he swore aloud and flipped his pipboy screen light to maximum. The dim greenish light shone like a blazing torch in the darkness allowing John to see a couple of feet ahead of him. Stumbling forward once more with his left arm held high, he blundered through the darkness heading in the direction he thought the destroyed town would be.

Half an hour later, he found himself wandering through the remains of broken houses and slumped buildings. His hopes of finding people dashed, John couldn't help but noticed the sting his exposed flesh felt. The biting feeling that left his extremities numb must have been that cold thing they had learned about back in the vault. The books had not done it justice in their description of how miserable he would feel in it if he wasn't wearing enough. '_If I ever get back I'm going to rewrite those books. Hell while I'm at it I'm gonna shove my foot up the Overseers ass._'

Following what appeared to be the road on the ground, he was startled by the strange howling noise that sounded not too far behind him. Whipping around, he raised the pipboy as high as it would go and tried to see into the darkness. The howl sounded again, this time joined by the sounds of other animal voices, and John's free hand came up with the pistol.

"Shit!" '_Stupid, the light must have attracted their attention!_' Frantically putting the pipboy to standby mode, John hurried to the side of the road and slid down behind an overturned car (at least that's what his vault education told him), he crouched down to listen, praying that whatever animals had made that noise would lose interest. The soft patter of feet and deep growls begged to differ, and John quietly cursed himself for his shortsightedness.

'_Fucking stupid_!' Peeping up over his cover, he squinted into the blackness and counted 5 lanky shapes creeping forward while hugging the ground. The dogs (vault manual warned there might be some domestic dogs that got left behind that managed to survive but turned feral after a couple of generations) were sniffling along the ground, clearly trying to track his scent. Propping up the pistol, John drew a bead on the head of the closest one, exhaling before tightening his trigger finger. The shot was perfect, punching a hole through the canine's eye, dropping the thing where it stood. Its companions barked and snarled, and a second fell before they began charging towards him. Emptying the entire remainder of the clip into the charging mass, John flung up his pipboy encased arm to block the incoming dog's bite. Teeth cracked against the hardened titanium basing of the wrist computer, but the momentum of its charge sent John to the floor. A much deeper growl sounded from above, and as Johns back smashed into the ground driving the air from his lungs, he caught glimpse of a massive shadow leaping from the edge of the third floor building into the fray.

His world blurred as the dog tightened its slack hold on John's wrist and shook him like a rag doll. Dropping the empty pistol, John frantically fumbled for the switchblade in his pocket, all the while in the background he could hear the growls of the two remaining dogs mixed in by the much deeper and menacing growl of whatever had come from the top of the building. Fingers finally finding what he had been looking for, he flipped open the blade and jammed it repeatedly into the side of the dogs neck, eliciting a shortened whimper of pain from the animal. The grip on his pipboy slackened, and John took the chance to free the hand and grab the side of the dogs head. Using his grip as leverage, he smashed the blade deeper into the side of the canine's neck before dragging the blade downwards, ending its pitiful struggles. Pushing the warm weight of the dead animal off his chest, John scrambled to his feet, vaguely noting to himself that the dogs were no longer growling.

Eyes that had adjusted to the gloom caught sight of the massive bulk that had leapt from the third floor of the broken building, and his breath caught in his throat. For a moment his heart simply stopped as he stared at the massive creature that was less than ten yards away. The thing must have been at least 6 feet tall even though it was crouched on all four, and was perhaps even wider. The limbs were much too long for the body size with coiled muscles that rippled like steel cables with irregular patches of fur lining the body. The elongated head of the creature must have been the size of John's torso, and in its powerful jaws were the mangled remains of one of the wild dogs that had attacked him, its entire body clamped down upon by massive incisors that was easily a foot long. Milky white eyes stared back at John, and he had to fight down an insane urge to giggle. Vault education hadn't quite prepared him for whatever this was. Taking a slow step back, he kept his eyes on the creature that was currently snacking on the flesh of the dead dog. Seeing no reaction, he continued backing away gradually towards the building. The slow backwards shuffle was going well until his foot hit something on the ground that caused a clatter that echoed like a drumbeat in the darkness. The massive creature whipped its head in John's direction, and he realized that it must be blind.

'_Oh fuck me sideways into a tree_.' Abandoning stealth, John turned and sprinted for the doorway into the building, all the while praying to whatever higher being that may be fortunate enough to be listening that the entryway was not locked. Acutely aware of the heavy but fast footfalls that were following his own desperate sprint, John slammed bodily into the door, smashing it wide open. Stumbling into the darkened room, he heard the door bounce off the adjacent wall and rebound back into the entryway with a definite click. A massive shudder rippled through the steel door and a massive indentation caved inwards as the creature slammed into the entryway from outside. Staring at the damage with wide eyes, John gave a startled jump as the massive bulk of the creature slammed into the doorway again, this time smashing the bottom parts inwards, destroying one of the two hinges holding the door to the frame.

"What the fuck?" The foreign voice registered in his mind like a dream, and he turned around to face the man in the room he had intruded upon. The first word that came to mind to describe the stranger's appearance was wild. He had a mane of unkempt hair along with a beard that would not have looked out of place on Santa Clause's face. Unlike the jolly old St. Nick, this man wore tattered stretches of cloth coupled with what appeared to be leather strappings crisscrossing his body. Here and there spikes jutted out along the obviously homemade armor, and what exposed skin John could make out seemed dirty and unwashed.

John opened his mouth to speak but the words died out in his mouth as the other man reached across his shoulder and unslung a rifle which he promptly jabbed into John's face. '_Great just what I fucking need, someone else trying to kill me!_'

Surging forward, the vault dweller managed to push the rifle barrel up before it went off, but the defeating bang at close range still left his ears ringing. The two men struggled for control over the rifle, John in silence and the other man screaming profanity at a rate that left the words barely comprehensible. Finally with a knee to the groin, John managed to pry the rifle from his enemies grip. Bringing the rifle butt down onto his keeled over adversaries skull, he was rewarded with the sickening crack of smashed skull bone. The sickening wrench of metal being shorn apart warned him that the creature was through the door, and John wasted no time in taking off, sprinting down the first dimly lit hallway he could see. The scrabble of claws on tile floor followed behind, and John cursed his luck. He had hoped the dead man would slow down the creature, but evidently it was much more interested in live prey.

Pushing past dozens of obstacles made of desks and filing cabinets, John absentmindedly noted that this must have been a school at some point. What little of the rooms he caught sight of as he ran past appeared to be like the classrooms he had been forced to attend as a child, numerous rows of desks with attached chairs neatly lined up in front of a blackboard with a much larger desk off to the side. A woman similarly dressed as the man John had just killed appeared in the doorframe of one such room a couple feet ahead of him. She wore the same outlandish armor and held what appeared to be some sort of wrench in her hand.

"Hey!" ignoring her angry shout, John blew right past, well aware of the beast that was steps behind. Her angry shout turned quickly into a screech of pain which was silenced with the sound of tearing flesh, but John didn't pause long enough to see what was happening. He charged down the hallway and swerved right like a pro football player. Blindly following the dimly lit corridors, he feverishly muttered prayers under his breath as he moved. Finally, after a long while of not hearing the heavy footfalls of the monster that had chased him into the building, John finally came to a halt and hunched over his knees. Breathing heavily, he quickly scanned the hallway he was standing in and noted he had no idea where he was. The rifle of the dead man was still held in a death grip by his hands, and he checked the magazine to see how many rounds were left. Four. Jamming the magazine back into place with trembling hands, he chambered a .32 round. The rifle itself was remarkably similar to the BB gun his father and Jonas had gotten him for his 11nth birthday, and having spent hundreds of hours shooting at random targets as a child John was fairly confident in his aim. The question was would a .32 round even bother that creature that was somewhere in this building.

Taking a long draw from the bottle of water he had scavenged off Jonas's desk, he rummaged through the rucksack for one of the guards pistols. Loading a full clip into the gun, he jammed it into his waistband, making sure it was within easy reach. He was trapped in a building with a monster that could tear him apart with ease along with god knows how many of those insane humans that seemed quite ready to kill him simply for intruding upon the place. This was not exactly what he had in mind as a child when he dreamed of exploring the outside world. Hefting the rifle so that he could easily get into a shooting stance, John grimly pressed on. When God gives you lemons, make lemonades. When god gives you a .32 rifle, make lots of dead bodies. It was time to move on.

AN: Anyone else's pulse rate up from all that running? Just me huh? Whipped this up in the middle of a sleepless night. Hope you guys enjoyed it. I'm still exploring my rusty writing skills, so expect to see some changes in my writing style until I get into rhythm. To clarify, the creature is a Yao Gui (ran into one of those suckers on my first nights wandering in waste at level 2; did not end well for me), and yes John is in the Springville School place. I think I'm going to push this fiction to rated M soon, I feel like trying my hand at a steamy love scene ;). Let me know what you think.


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